


Flesh and Soul

by Joelcoxriley



Series: Shealyne de Suaveterre [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Black Hand, Brutal Murder, Cannibalism, Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, F/M, High Gore, Mathieu Bellamont POV, Rape, Silencer - Freeform, Survival Horror, oblivion, the elder scrolls, vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 00:10:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4283244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joelcoxriley/pseuds/Joelcoxriley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pair of Silencers seek shelter from the dangers of the encroaching darkness and break into a house they deem abandoned. They are wrong. Inside, the pair find a man-old, skeletal, bird like and with eyes of the dead. Bellamont assumes the marred man is of no threat, yet once more he is the fool.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please read at your own risk. Mathieu is such a devoted lover, yes? This is from a dream, and as such, some parts may make no sense.

 

"Are you alright, Sister?" I asked, noticing that my beloved's hauntingly beautiful face had become increasingly pale-even for one plagued with vampirism. Indeed, Shealyne's once snow white hue had turned pasty, as if she were a corpse beginning to decompose. Her lips were drained of color and chapped, and her normally blood red eyes that had once contrasted with her pale skin like thick warm blood upon a pure maiden's dress were now half shut and glazed.

"I am fine." Shealyne spoke, though I knew her better. My Sister was not fine.

"You lie." I stated softly, my eyes drifting to my Sister's wounded side, the color of deep red staining her black robe. I could not stop my fists from shaking in rage, feeling my own nails dig into my flesh. The contract that had been simple had gone terribly wrong. Though we had managed to send the unfortunate fool's soul into Sithis' unholy grasp, my Sister and I did not come out of the fight unscathed.

It was I that had become so ambitious that I could not see the danger before me. I thought nothing could go wrong. I thought that no fool would dare stand before us. After all, who would be so vain and foolish enough to try to deter the shadow of death when one cannot escape? Little did I know, this target would. More the fool I, no?

"A storm is coming." Shealyne commented, evading the subject as I looked up to the sky.

"So it seems." I muttered, the clouds various shades of gray, as if bruised. How fitting.

"I should have slit his throat faster." I hissed, feeling the rain begin to fall softly. Good. If we were lucky, the rain laden earth would wash away any sign of our presence.

"You did. He bled fast, Brother." Shealyne muttered, her face contesting in silent discomfort and pain.

"Not fast enough." I muttered darkly, remembering how my blade had severed tendon, sinew, and bone. I remembered how the blood erupted from the man's artery like an enraged volcano breaching the earth's crust. Indeed, the man was a fast bleeder. But he didn't bleed fast enough. I didn't cut hard or fast enough before his torn jugular could sever his last breath in one struggled gasp. The blood bubbled. And bubbled, bubbled as the target still drew breath. The jagged, broken edge of my blade reaped the life from the man among its cold steeled fangs. Like Death itself. Cold. Lifeless. Unfeeling. Merciless. Yet even with my jagged blade slitting his throat, he didn't bleed fast enough.

I was awoken from my brooding upon hearing a soft gasp from my Sister next to me as she stumbled and fell.

"You are not alright." I stated, kneeling down to her fallen level. Shealyne refused to speak for she knew I was right.

"We can't keep this up. I can't keep this up." Shealyne spoke, her voice quavering with a hidden terror. Her eyes, however, spoke the truth.

"It will not come to that." I stated, hoisting Shealyne up. Her footing was unsteady as she clenched onto my shoulder, jaw slacked and hair plastered to her gaunt face.

"You speak like it is true." Shealyne muttered, the woman gasping as I grabbed her shoulders-and knowing my violent temper, roughly-and forced her to look at me.

"Shealyne." I hissed, the woman refusing to look at me out of fear. I hated when she did that. I hated when she feared me when she knew I would never harm her.

"Look at me." I ordered firmly, my Sister hesitantly looking into my eyes, her beautiful red iris quivering in terror like disturbed, tainted water.

"I..." I broke off, suddenly unsure of what to say as I pierced my lips together.

"I will not allow that to happen. Do you understand?" I asked, speaking to Shealyne like a child. I was unsure if she could fully comprehend in her current state.

"Yes..." Shealyne whispered softly, causing me to loosen my grip.

"We will be fine." I muttered again, resisting the growing urge to claim her as mine once more as I allowed my hands to fall to my side.

"Come, Sister dearest. I would like to get out of this rain." I ordered, feeling my mood go south as the rain began to pour.

"Sithis damn this forsaken region!" I hissed in annoyance, the rain now heavily pouring as dull thunder roared in the distance.

"Your cursing doesn't solve anything." Shealyne snapped, my eyes rolling in annoyance before narrowing at the earthen ground before us. This place truly did seem forsaken. Even the grass was dead.

Shealyne and I remained quiet for several minutes, our boots getting stuck in the thick mud from time to time as our robes clung to our bodies, making our movements uncomfortable. The air was thick with an earthen scent, and even though the rain was cool, warm mist rose from the very ground as a result from the hot sun earlier in the day.

In time, the heavy rain died down to a light drizzle, the water that would act as sustenance to a growing seed in it's womb becoming wasted on the land. This area, in my observations, appeared infertile, for as soon as the water became trapped in the burrowed ground, the very surface cracked.

Shealyne had stumbled and fallen on the parched ground several times, the dust and drying mud staining her knees. It worried, and rightfully frustrated me that I could do nothing but watch her health deteriorate, fade into nothing like ashes just birthed from a fire. If worse came to worse, however, I could always carry her.

"How are you?" I asked once more, Shealyne's footing unsteady as she paused in her walking to catch her breath. It was obvious that the wound on her side was causing her pain.

"I'm fine, Mathieu. I'm fine." Shealyne spoke softly, nodding as if to confirm.

I paused in my stride to allow my Sister catch up, the woman adjusting her robe so it wouldn't stick to her reaping wound.

"This place is miserable, isn't it?" Shealyne asked, laughing gently in an attempt to change the mood. Quite frankly, she and I were both miserable by our unfortunate events.

"Agreed. I find this place a bit depressing. The land itself appears dead." I mused. It was strange. This land, while appearing dead and dry, was surrounded by forests and meadows in the distance. If I had to guess, these lush landscapes were only a few miles off.

We began to notice a building in the distance, and unsure what to make of it, moved slowly towards the building. We couldn't afford to get into a fight if bandits occupied the house.

Getting closer, my Sister and I developed mixed feelings about this house. It was in extremely poor conduction, and falling apart despite it's rather large size of being two stories. I also saw that the wooden sidings of the house were covered with mold and neglect. The windows were cracked and broken, exposing old and torn curtains which were faded in color. The tapestries gently glided in the wind, as if a spirit were moving them to and fro in an attempt to get them to settle just right. The roof seemed to have partly caved in on itself. The door to the house was splintered and bent, the hinges rusty and crooked.

I involuntarily shivered as I heard the wind moan through the house, as if the building itself was breathing. Shealyne appeared unnerved as well, for she approached me as if she were readying for a fight. I could hear her soft breathing as her eyes scanned the house, as if expecting the building to swallow her whole.

"Do...do you think someone is there?" Shealyne asked softly, both of us on edge.

"It seems abandoned." I noted, briefly glancing at woodwork next to the house. However, seeing the framework for a new building made my hackles rise. The bones of a second house-possibly an add on, but I have no idea why one would build an add on while leaving the main home in such poor conditions- were in good condition compared to the ruined house. It didn't set well with me. But in the end, it was the only form of shelter from the weather, and with night approaching in a few hours, I wasn't too keen on stumbling around in the shadows. Shealyne may have been able to see in the dark, but I could not. The scent of her blood could also attract predators.

"Stay back. I'll go scout, see if anyone is inside." I spoke, Shealyne looking at me with slight concern.

"Are you sure? I can still defend myself." Shealyne asked, and I knew by the tone in her voice that she didn't want me to go alone. Hahaha! Such a sweet thing she is! Her worry amused me slightly, but it provoked a fire within me, a fire that would burn and sear anything that threatened my dear Sister.

"That is not needed, Sister dear. You have shed enough of your blood for our Dread Father." I spoke, a slight smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth upon seeing Shealyne's lips pierce together into a slight frown.

"I...yes, Brother. Here, take this." Shealyne spoke, and I heard her sleek blade become unsheathed as she held it for me to take.

Wordlessly, I wrapped my fingers around the blade's handle, my fingers lightly touching hers as I briefly examined the dagger before nodding in thanks.

"Be careful, Mathieu." Shealyne pleaded, red eyes showing her worry as I resisted the urge to make some form of physical contact with her.

"I will, Shealyne. Don't worry." I reassured her, and barely stopped myself from leaning into kiss her. I barely even knew I was performing the action. How professional.

Recovering, I smiled softly and nodded once more before turning towards the house. I cautiously approached the croft, my senses increasing. Even if they knew I was approaching, they would never have heard me, and their throats would be slit before they could even draw their weapons.

I ducked under the siding of the wooden croft and pressed myself flat against the wall, a broken window just next to me. I paused, and stilled my breathing as I focused on any kind of noise within the house. Any breath, any gasp, whisper, shout, footstep. I would have heard it. I heard nothing but the breathing of that damned house.

Clutching the blade in my hand, my grip tightened as the gloves groaned against each other in protest. I was sure my knuckles were white. They had to be. I always clutched my blade in a death grip when I steeled myself for a kill. Hard and fast. Hard and fast. They would never see me coming before it was too late, and their blood would be drained on the floor, the life blood pumping out like a dying fountain.

Peeking inside the window, I quickly scanned the inside of the house. The dump was worse than mine, and seemed to be in even worse condition inside. I saw that the house wasn't bare, and was decorated with ruined, paint chipped chairs surrounding a single grime infested table. The thing that disturbed me most, however, was the presence of dead dogs on the floor. They appeared to be in only a few weeks of decay, but seemed to have been stripped of their skin, revealing flesh and bone, dried blood pooling around them. From the short distance I could see the flesh squirm from glow flies burrowing underneath. The scent of decay was rank in the air, and the wind that blew gently from the window was hot and suffocating. I saw the floor, and noticed matted balls of fur and flesh, along with bloodied eating utensils and smashed plates and bowls littering the rotting wood. It was then that I realized the dirt on the table wasn't grime. It was blood.

Pulling back, I silently leaned against the wall, my eyes looking for Shealyne to find the woman a good distance away. I could practically feel her body tense, awaiting a sign from me, or possibly a sudden shout or war cry from a marauder that would suddenly burst through the rotting door, axe in hand.

I motioned for her to remain there, Shealyne nodding in response. I couldn't afford to allow my Sister to walk into such danger. While the house seemed abandoned, these dogs were killed by someone. I could only imagine that it would be for their flesh.

Silently, I moved towards the door and pressed myself against the wall once more, listening. I still heard nothing but the soft moans of the wind. Clutching Shealyne's blade, my other hand rested on the wooden door. I could feel the softness in the wood, and smell of mildew hit my nostrils.

Pushing gently on the door as to not make the rusted hinges creak, I grunted softly as the door refused to budge. Cursing inwardly to myself, I applied more pressure, but backed off as I felt the damp wood bend under my weight.

Sighing, I reeled back and kicked my boot at the rusted hinges, the door almost completely breaking in half as some of the hinges fell off and the soft wood snapped. The door flew inward, and was open at an awkward angle. It may not have been stealthy, but at least I got the damn door open.

Readying Shealyne's dagger, I stepped through the precipice. Moving inside, my eyes began to water at the rank presence of death, several flies buzzing around the room and feeding on the meat. I couldn't help but cough as I covered my mouth. Normally this wasn't a problem for me. I was used to every stage of death and decay, but this...I was unphased emotionally and mentally, but physically...it made me gag. It actually made me gag!

Coughing, and eyes watering, I backed out towards the door, becoming startled at I hit something. Swiftly turning around, Shealyne's blade was pressed again the flesh of a soft neck. Against my Sister's neck.

"Shea...Shealyne? I told you to stay outside!" I hissed, my breathing suddenly increasing before slowing as I released a deep sigh and lowered the blade. Shealyne stood, pale and wide eyed before releasing a shaky sigh in relief. She continued to look at me, eyes showing...terror? Uncertainty? Why? She knows-knows-that I would never harm her! Why does she act like I would hurt her? I began to feel a deep rage boil in the pit of my stomach, but before it could be released, I recognized the look in her eyes. She was concerned for me.

"I-I know. But I was worried about you." Shealyne spoke, her red eyes shining, as if they held millions of stars. She still watched me. Her body tense. It was no doubt that she could sense my rage. Slowly, my Sister became more lax as my anger began to smolder.

"Are you okay, Mathieu? I heard you hacking..." Shealyne broke off, her nostrils flaring slightly. I guess that she picked up the scent of the dead dogs. Or maybe the mildew? If she liked it now, wait till she stepped inside...

"I found...dead dogs inside, skinned and covered with flies and maggots. The house also has mold." I stated almost flatly, Shealyne craning her neck to look passed me.

"And I kicked the door down too. The hinges were too rusted to properly open them." I added like she cared, Shealyne looking at the oddly open and half broken door.

"You certainly gave it more charm. I take it no one is home?" Shealyne asked me, spying the dead dogs through the door as she frowned.

"If they are, then they are deaf." I mused slightly. While I may not have been able to scout out the whole house, the sound of the door being kicked open surely would have alerted someone to an intruder.

"Ohh, those poor dogs..." Shealyne frowned, watching me walk through the door once more into the house. Hesitantly, my Sister followed inside, and immediately covered her mouth and started coughing.

"By Sithis! The air is...so foul! How-how can you stand it?" Shealyne asked me, her eyes beginning to water as she started to gag, as if she were about to vomit.

"I got used to it, I guess." I replied. Really, it wasn't as bad as the first time I walked through that door. The air still stank, but at least it was bearable. The only thing you had to worry about was choking on a fly.

Really, the farmhouse looked much bigger on the outside than on the inside. Listening to my Sister gag-I being unsuccessful at blocking out the noise as she most likely vomited-I realized that this room was most likely a living room. It was small, but still a decent size. Towards the back, I saw another room in a more darkened area just down a tiny hallway that could only have one person go through at a time. If I had to guess, it was a storage room or maybe a kitchen. It didn't look very big from what I could see. Just before the hallway leading to the back room and to the left of the living room was a staircase. I didn't trust the foundation of this croft. The whole place looked like it was ready to fall down.

"This place is disgusting." Shealyne stated, wiping away the vomit that trickled down her chin. I grunted in response as a fly occasionally smacked my forehead. Stupid creatures. Why do they have to fly into everything?

Save for Shealyne's moaning, I could only hear the constant buzzing of the flies splitting the air. It was annoying, and I found myself swatting at them several times.

"Mathieu, was someone eating these dogs?" I turned as Shealyne asked me, the woman examining the table as she shifted in pain.

"I-" I went to speak only to be interrupted by Shealyne as she released a startled gasp, her delicate hand shooting up over her mouth. Following her gaze, I was unsettled to find a thin, old man sitting in a dully lit corner on an old wooden chair. Unmoving. Unblinking. Just staring at us, or rather, past us.

How the hell could I have missed an old man sitting in a damn corner? Surely Shealyne would have noticed as well. Was he always there? Did he just walk in and sit down while my Sister had distracted me?

"How long was he there?" Shealyne asked, voice unnerved as she shakily glanced towards me.

"I don't know." I answered softly, out of the man's ear shot as Shealyne moved behind me, ignoring the flies that seemed to be targeting her open wound.

I dared not take my eyes off the man. For a second, I wondered if he even drew breath. But based on his slow and raspy breathing, I knew he was alive, if only on his last legs.

The man was truly horrendous to look at. His hair was grey and matted, the man having bald patches all over his scalp, as if he were the one pulling out his own hair. His face, while thin and sullen, was scarred and twisted, lips uneven that covered rotten and missing teeth. His eyes were a dull grey, and his pupils mimicked when one stared into death. The man had a large, bird like nose that reminded me of an eagle's beak. Sharp and pointed. His jaw appeared to be shrunken in, most likely from his lack of teeth, I'm guessing. Besides the man's bird like features, he appeared...skeletal. Weak and frail, very boney.

Suddenly, the man's head turned almost unnaturally toward us, jerky yet smooth, like a hawk sighting in on it's prey. Shealyne jumped, startled as I readied her blade. Several seconds passed, yet the man made no move nor sound.

"Excuse me, sir? Is...this your house? Do you live here?" Shealyne asked, her voice shaking slightly, though I couldn't tell if her voice faltered so out of fear, or from her wound causing her pain.

The man made no response for several seconds before his face cracked into a crooked smile, as if it was not meant for his face. It exposed the man's rotten teeth, and there were multiple gaps from his missing ones. His nose appeared to cover up most of his face when you looked at him head on. An ugly one, this man. The man may have grinned in my direction, but his eyes-the eyes that looked upon death in an endless stare-they didn't look at me. They looked at my beloved.

"Oh! Visitors! Come in, come in!" The old man suddenly spoke, his voice soft and meek with age. Shealyne and I looked at each other, unsure.

"Do...you live here?" Shealyne once more, hesitant as the man released a great heave as he got up. The man's shoulder were slumped so forward it looked painful, his back completely arched forward, neck and head hanging low.

"Yes. Oh, I get so lonely here." The man spoke, hobbling toward us, a heavy thump and occasional dragging noise being produced as he walked. It was then I saw that his left leg...well, it was a stump. And it appeared to have a crude piece of metal somehow attached to his leg underneath his trousers. It sounded heavy.

"Oh, my..." Shealyne whispered to me, out of earshot of the approaching man. The man paused just before us, and I could smell his reeking breath as I positioned myself between him and my Sister.

The man then raised a bony hand, his nails cracked, uncut and yellow as he went to reach passed me, towards Shealyne. Shealyne's eyes widened at the shaking hand as she took a slight step back. Instinctively, I swiftly grabbed the offending man's wrist, feeling bone and thin flesh as the man's hand began to whiten. It was disgusting to make physical contact with the old man, even with my gloves on.

It was then that I saw it. That look in the old man's eyes as he bore into mine. It was the same darkness that was in my eyes. My hackles rose. This man-he wasn't normal, and he was targeting my Shealyne. Why? What did he want with her? I felt my anger rise, and my grip tightened on the man's wrist as his dead eyes looked upon me with silent anger. If this man so much as touched her, I would make him beg for death!

"Don't you dare touch her." I growled lowly, the man staring in that dead stare of his! Bastard! Oh, how I wished I would have plunged Shealyne's blade into his eye sockets and rip his damned dead eyes out! I longed to hear his screams as blood poured down his face, eyes ripped out for even looking upon her!

"Mathieu, let him go." Shealyne ordered gently, touching my shoulder as I glanced at her before regretfully breaking my grip. The old man's wrist was already bruising. Good.

My head suddenly snapped toward the ceiling as I heard the wood creek above us, Shealyne ignoring the noise as she eyed the man.

"Is there anyone else here?" I asked, the man smiling, though to me it appeared to be a smirk.

"My dogs. It's so nice to have visitors. It gets so lonely here." The man replied, Shealyne giving me an odd look.

"You lie." I stated, the man looking at me coldly.

"If you don't believe me go and look." The man growled lowly, my instincts screaming something was off. This bastard was shady. More so than I by far. What was he hiding?

Looking towards Shealyne, I felt uneasy about leaving her alone with this man. He may have been frail, but he was strange. I swear to Sithis, if he so much as touched her...

"Don't worry, Mathieu. I'll be fine." Shealyne replied, swiping a fly away as I looked at her before pressing the blade into her hand.

"I believe this is yours." I whispered, kissing her softly before moving passed the man. I could feel his eyes upon me as I made my way up the stairs, cursing as I nearly broke my ankle when a step broke.

I watched as Mathieu walked up the stairs, clenching my blade slightly. It was still warm from his hold.

I glanced at the man, but swiftly looked to anywhere but him. He was staring at me. Why was he staring? It was so unnerving. He wasn't a threat to me, even with the rather large cut on my side. How could an old man with a missing leg possibly harm me? Of course, there was the matter of the dead dogs. Poor things. I wonder if he ate them? Is he still staring? Damn, he is. What's his problem? Maybe he's just lonely? He did say that three times. Poor old, creepy man.

"How long have you...lived here?" I asked, hoping to break the awkwardness.

"Oh, years and years. Are you planning on staying long? I would really like to talk with you." I couldn't help but shudder at that comment. What's wrong with this guy? I didn't want to stay here. I would rather sleep outside than stay in this dump.

"I...don't know. As long as Mathieu wants, I guess." I replied, the man's creepy eyes narrowing upon hearing my response. I saw the look in his eyes when Mathieu stopped him from touching me. He looked evil. Like he wanted to hurt or kill Mathieu. It scared me.

"You and he are close." The man stated, and before I could open my mouth to speak, the old man spoke again.

"How long has he been humping you?"

My mouth dropped at that. What could I say? How could I respond? I wanted to speak, come up with something witty to say but I was just caught so off guard. Instead, my mouth opened and closed like a hapless fish. Who even asks that? Who?! That was none of his business! That old, sick, pervert! Ugh!

"E-Excuse me?!" I stammered, feeling myself pale as he looked at me, as if it was a perfectly normal thing to ask a person.

"Did you moan his name with every thrust? Allow him to fill you with his seed?" The man asked, once again in that innocent voice.

What the hell is wrong with him?! He's so vulgar! I just want to get out of here! I don't care if I die trying to get home, I don't want to stay here!

"You are being extremely rude!" I managed, fidgeting as I glanced at the stairwell, hoping Mathieu would come down any second.

"Would you like some water?" The man asked suddenly, looking at me. I was confused by the sudden change in topic, even though I was glad for it. What was he trying to do? I didn't trust him.

"I..." I started, but before I could answer the man had hobbled off into the back room, emerging with a kettle and cup. I watched him as he poured a brownish liquid into the cup, and could swear that I heard a plopping noise. It made my stomach lurch.

"Oh, no, no thank you. I'm not thirsty." I responded, but the man set down the kettle and held the cup out for me, his hands shaking.

Hesitantly, I took the cup from him and stared at the brownish water. It smelled horrible, and I looked at the man only to find him still watching me, as if waiting for me to drink it. I didn't want to, and I kept imagining that it would be poisonous. He kept staring, and even though he stopped asking such personal questions, his eyes unnerved me the most.

Seeking to ignore him, I turned to the cup. It looked like it was covered in dust and maybe some mold. I sniffed the water some more, and scrunched my nose. It smelled like mold.

I glanced at the man, and upon seeing his eyes on me, lowered my head so that my sore lips lightly touched the cold metal rim. I swear I could taste the mold. A horrible taste and smell. Holding my breath, I took a small sip of the water, and almost immediately spit the water out of my mouth and threw the mug away. The mug shattered on the ground, water and maggots scattering on the floor.

Maggots...it was filled with maggots! That was it! That-that was the plopping noise I heard!

Gagging, I tried in vain to get the taste out, and in disgust and terror, bolted passed the man down the hall. I found myself in the kitchen. And I couldn't believe at what I saw.

Blood. I saw blood everywhere. I saw flesh in mounds, in bowls and scattered among the counters, ripe with maggots. And I saw bones. Human bones. To my right, I saw a pot with boiling water, and something was in it that smelled terrible. How could we have not smelled it earlier? My eyes widened, as to my horror, a human head emerged from the boiling water, hair and flesh melted as one, and I saw teeth in the flesh mounds-places where they didn't seem to belong. The eye sockets-they scared me-unnerved me! Though I could see no eyes under the melted flesh...by Sithis...it appeared as if they were stabbed out by...by a knife or fork! The...the flesh...oh, no! I-I felt sick! I needed to get out of here-I needed to warn Mathieu!

In panic, I turned around only to meet the dead face of the man, his eyes cold. It was the last thing I remembered before hearing a loud pang, and feeling a sharp yet dull pain on my head before blacking out.

My head snapped as I heard a clang followed by a thud. My heart went cold and skipped a beat as I felt myself break into a cold sweat. I heard her scream-or try to call. Shealyne! Damn it! How stupid could I be to leave her alone with that bastard?!

"Shea?...Shealyne?" I called out, still partly numb in disbelief as I swiftly ran towards the stairs, cursing as I saw that old man at the bottom of the stairwell. I noticed that he was holding an ax. Shit.

Not willing to face a man with an axe when weaponless, I slammed the stairs door and swiftly kicked at the hinges, bending them so the man would have to bust through the door.

Looking around the rooms for a weapon, I found none, and could hear his damned metal leg drag and clank against the wood as he got closer and closer to the door. I could hear him mutter something, nonsense I guess. Still, it sounded like he was talking about eating something. This man was more messed up than me.

Moving toward the last room, I saw a window, surprisingly still in tact, and just outside it was the wooden frames of the future home. The room was completely bare with only dirt and cobwebs covering the area.

I quickly slammed the door closed, and seeing as this one had a handle, broke it. I could hear him break through the first door, and in a matter of seconds splinter the second door open with his axe. Damn these doors and their mold!

Seeing no weapon, I punched the window out, cutting myself in the process as I picked up a large shard, holding it like a blade. Maybe it would have been easier to jump out the window, but I wasn't going to flee. He did something to my Sister, and I wasn't about to abandon her. Heh. It looks like I would get to slit his throat after all.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, once more. Please read at your own risk. This chapter has the most graphic violence, since, well, it is life or death. And it being in Mathieu's point of view does not help. Either way, find out if he shall prevail or fall!

The axe sent soft splinters onto the floor, the sharp, uneven edge of the rusted weapon causing the molden wood to crack and pop in protest. The weapons edge moved side to side before being ripped out, in its place being the twisted, ghoulish face of the man. His damned dead eyes locked upon me. Those same damned eyes that I wanted to rip from his skull for even looking upon my Sister, for harming her!

With a rush of cloth, the wooden beams underneath seemed to cry in my wake from the strain of my charge, glass posed to strike. All it would take was one hit. One swift and brutal plunge and the clear blade would pierce one of his rotten eyes and slip into his skull!

I grunted as I slammed into the door, missing my damned mark as the grotesque man moved his skeletal head. My strike was so forceful with a killing intent that I could not stay my hand, the glass emitting a loud crack as it seemed to shatter the wooden door. The hole became larger as the damp, mold pieces slowly fell apart, as if being held together by a wooden form of sinew trying in vain to keep the door intact.

I growled as I found the clear blade embedded in the door despite its softness, my left hand gripping the hole for support only to have a bony hand wrench at my arm. I felt the stinging burn of broken and jagged nails scrape my arm-even underneath the robe and light armor-and realized the man was trying to pull my left arm through the door.

I could feel the man's grip strengthen as his own knuckles drained to a clammy white, he trying to drag my arm over the precipice. The man grunted, and the sound of rusted metal and wood pounding with one another resounded in my ears. That bastard! He was trying to hack my arm off!

Upon realizing his intent, I started to struggle with even more fervor as I smelled his rancid breath and felt his nails scrape. I couldn't believe how damned strong this man was despite him looking so frail. How was it possible? I was fortunate that the area was narrow, for the old man was struggling with keeping a grip on me and maneuvering his weapon to strike.

With a heave, the clear blade was freed from its wooden prison. As rapidly as I could in my state, I slashed at my attacker's hand, and as if in an instant, the grip had slipped back. The marred man hissed, backing off as I stepped away, admiring the glass with satisfaction at the deep crimson that tainted the shard's purity.

I heard a great heave on the other side, and the door fully shattered as the man broke through, using both metal leg and rusted axe. The odd man appeared almost…..comical at the way he held his weapon and the overall horrid condition of his posture. It appeared quite obvious that he should not be doing anything at all-and in truth the unnatural condition of his appearance and physical movements unnerved me.

Blood gently flowed from the cut on the man's hand as he gripped his weapon, and using his metal leg flung himself towards me. It was a simple dodge as I backed up, but I couldn't help feeling like a cornered rat as the axe plunged into the floorboards. I could tell the strain of rising and lowering the weapon was harming his posture as the old man struggled to rip the axe from the floorboards, and just as I began to charge once more the metal was freed. The sudden upward motion of wood and metal caused me to lurch back to avoid getting clocked in the face. I dared not strike while he had that weapon, knowing the frailty of my makeshift blade. I couldn't afford it to break.

Once more, the old man used his odd metal leg to strengthen his blow, he falling short as I once again stepped back, but quickly ducked as the rusted head flew off the wooden handle. I heard the axe head slam into the wall behind me, and as I rose I moved to the side once more to avoid a blow, the lack of an axe head only seeming to make his attacks move with increased fervor and speed. How damn fast could this old man be? This was absurd!

Timing his swings, I rushed in as the man beckoned his weapon back to strike, swiftly grabbing his arm as I twisted the limb as much as I could. The old man grunted-perhaps in pain, perhaps in rage, I know not-yet what I do know was that he refused to let go of the weapon. The man was forced to loosen his grip, a hand flailing wildly and scraping my face. The stinging pain caused my head to jerk, and my grip loosened as the old man ripped the wood from my grasp. I saw nothing but the rotten, almost grimy looking wooden floor as my gloved hand immediately covered the scratches, grizzly and uneven from his broken nails. For a brief second I looked upon the floor, and when I recovered to turn back to the man did I see the handle coming towards me, the odd man once again using his metal leg to strengthen his blows. I did not have time to dodge before I felt the dull, yet sharp pain of being hit, suddenly being unable to breathe as I was knocked off my feet and fell to the floor.

I lay there on my side for quite some time, struggling to breathe from the intense pain as I tried to rise, to get up. I remember trying so hard to even move, yet my body would not comply as my vision was dull and blurred, and it appeared as if time had stopped. Slowly, my breath began to come back to me, and my focus became clear as I realized the man had not attacked yet. Why? Why had he not attacked? What was he waiting for? That crippled bastard. I am going to tear out his horrid spine when I am done with him!

I heard his foot steps, uneven and dragging as he grunted, as if straining to get something. He was away from me. Why-motherfucker! Where was my damn weapon? That old bastard!

Though still dazed in movement, I forced myself to roll onto my back, grunting in pain at the movement as my eyes briefly lost focus. When they regained their clarity, however, I saw the old man hobble towards me, a disgusting look upon his face as he tried to smile-or grin even-though it made his face appear more skeletal and horrid. All I could hear was his breathing, deep and labored-a bit uneven. My eyes widened as I saw the clear shard in his boney, broken hands, blood on the glass from his earlier wound.

He flicked the blade, and I heard a crack in his wrist before the old man raised his arm, and plunged the blade upon me. Time once again slowed, as if a still life caught on a painted canvas…..though the canvas would be the clear piece of window shard and the paint would be my blood. Pretty, though I would prefer the man's blood over mine being spilt.

I did not know which would be faster-the man's weapon plunging into my stomach, or my desperate attempt at blocking the fatal blow. My mind went through the phases I had seen victims go through-and soon the ones I would experience. First would be the stabbing of glass into soft flesh, then the hitching of breath and being unable to breathe from the sudden pressure and shock. Then the unbearable-nauseating pain as multiple nerve bundles were cut and severed-possibly the stomach as well, which would cause acidity damage-very slow and painful. Blood. I would bleed out swiftly, and my only chance would be keeping the glass in to try and slow down my flow of blood-but the man would most likely rip it out of my flesh-or worse, slice me further down to my navel. Once the wound is heavily bleeding, shock will set in. Deathly pale flesh, clammy skin, cold limbs, erratic and rapid pulse, shallow, swift breaths. Shock. Then death.

I watched the blade moving in slow motion as it descended upon me, saw the man's face twist in sadistic glee as he readied for the kill. Were my reaction a mere second shorter, the man would have disembowled me. But he did not, for the blade had plunged deep within my knee as I raised my right leg.

It was then I heard a scream, though it seemed distant, and far as I felt the shard pierce muscle and scrape through the jointed bones. The pain was so overwhelming that my vision had briefly darkened, and I had noticed that my throat was sore, as if bleeding. Then I recognized the scream. It was I that was screaming.

Adrenalin had now fueled by body, and my vision had recovered, sharper, and more alert as I suddenly kicked at the man with my good leg. The kick had startled the man, smashing into his broken waist as he tumbled backwards, falling to the ground.

Instinct set me on eliminating the threat as I gripped the shard, swiftly and painfully ripping it out, blood staining my pants and robe. The near blinding pain was dulled as I rose to my feet, injured leg shaking and ready to give under the strain of my weight.

I looked upon the man who had used a nearby wall for support to rise, his movements stiff. I moved as fast as my wounded leg would allow, grunting as I slammed into the old man, forcing him to be pressed against the wall.

I could smell his rancid breath, though I paid no heed as his nails racked against my arm, the man struggling to break my grip upon him, but to no avail. I pulled back my arm to stab the man, my other arm pinning him, pressed firmly against his thin and destorted chest as the man struggled. A sudden kick on my wounded knee had almost made me fall, dropping my makeshift blade as I hissed, shrill breath moving through clenched teeth.

The man had then lunged at me, grasping my robe as he pulled me closer. My raised arm was the only thing keeping his snapping jaw at bay, mere inches from my own face. My elbow was embedded in his neck, though he still lunged with each attempted bite, my injured leg almost giving out and buckling.

"Get..." I struggled, his rancid breath and snapping mouth producing saliva that had landed upon my face, "...off of me!"

I hissed shrilly, using what little reserve I had to push my attacker off me in a violent shove, slamming him into the wall as I pressed upon his throat with my arm.

The man began to gag, tongue visible as he struggled, yet I did not dare yield. The man grasped my face, nails digging into my skin as he suddenly pressed upon my eyes with his thumbs.

In pain, and not wanting to go blind, I swiftly grabbed his wretched skull and yanked him forward, my action suprizing the man before I slammed his head into the wall.

The man gasped, immediately letting go of my eyes as I pulled him forward once more, forcing his brittle skull into the wood, wall shaking. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. In truth, I lost track of how many times I slammed his head into the wall. I do know, however, that I did not stop even though his body grew limp. I did not stop even though thick globs of crimson stained the wood. I did not stop even though I felt the sickening crack of his skull breaking. Only when I was exhausted did I stop, my gloved hand releasing the matted and bloody remains of his skull, now misshapen and broken.

I breathed, deep and ragged as I allowed the corpse to slide to the floor. I leaned against the wall, sweat forming upon my brow as my leg failed me, giving out.

No, no, no! Not here! Not now! I needed to move forward. Shealyne was here, somewhere. I needed to find her. I need to...

I forced myself to rise, gasping at the pain in my knee, I unable to put much pressure upon it. It hurt to even bend my leg, the life blood staining my pants. I could feel the cloth stick to my leg, feeling the blood pool into my boot.

A sudden, shrill scream hit my ears as I felt cold terror creep within my chest, fearing that the blood curling scream belonged to Shealyne, for the scream was feminine. However, something told me the identification was wrong, for it did not sound like my Sister, no. The scream was coming from the wilds, though I heard the cry move from outside to inside the house, the source swift. She was running. Running and screaming as if she were being murdered. I heard the heavy pounding of her footfalls move almost impossibly so, the whole house seeming to shake as I realized she was heading up the stairs.

Not wishing to fight in my condition, I looked towards the window that I had previous broken, the wooden bones of the new building a few feet away. If only I could bring myself to leap onto the beam...yet with my wound...no, I had to try. I refuse to die. Not until I find my Sister.

I braced myself, pushing myself off the wall as I moved as fast as I could, the woman rushing through the broken door, mouth open in an unearthly scream, teeth yellow and stained with blood. The woman was thin and equally as marred at the deceased man, face sunken and a bloodied apron wrapped around her, appearing stained with other bodily fluids. Her eyes were dead as well, and her blood curling screams reached a whole new pitch upon seeing her dead kin.

Yet I was already leaping out the window, pushing off as hard as I could with my uninjured leg, barely grasping onto a beam. My own weight had pulled me down, my grip slick from the blood upon my gloved hands. My breath hitched in a gasp as I lost even more leverage, leg kicking to find support that was not there, the other dangling uselessly.

I heard a sudden rush of gasps and shrill sobs from the woman inside, an almost inhuman wail tearing through her throat as she rushed the window, attempting to grab me with her boney hands. Yet alas, I was too far out of her reach as she struggled in desperate rage.

Her wailing had faltered as the woman drew further away, rushing downstairs before moving outside, running in circles below me. Her scream failed not as she clasped a butcher's knife, awaiting my eventual fall.

I felt my hope fade as I did not have the strength to pull myself up, my arms heavy and sore, myself drenched in sweat. I felt the blood from my wound seep down my leg, and looked two stories below to see the woman's mouth still agape, collecting the blood that was dripping from my injury into her open maw. Like a starving dog she eagerly fed...like a beast.

My breathing slowed as I tried to brace myself, knowing I would have to fall. Knowing the fall would very well damage my legs even more so. Knowing I would most likely be stabbed to death-and by a butcher's knife-no less.

The woman had once again began running in circles, a shrill scream ripping through her throat. I attempted to time my fall, allowing my grip to fail as my stomach twisted from the anticipated event.

My fall, however, was broken as I had landed upon the woman, I forcing her own blade into her gaping mouth. I had heard several of her bones snap, the knife forced so heavily into her mouth it had ruptured her throat, blood gurgling.

I hissed shrilly, my knee stinging in such sharp pain from being bent that I had rolled off the woman's corpse, laying upon my side. My whole body ached, heavy with strain and wounds. I looked upon the woman at my side, her eyes wide and dead, blood pooling around her.

I wanted nothing more than to close my eyes and rest, but I knew I could not. There was too much at stake. The woman had blood upon her that was fairly fresh. What if it was Shealyne's?

I groaned tiredly, slowly rising to my feet the best I could. I took a step, and my leg gave out underneath as I gasped, sucking in air sharply as I fell upon my knees. I tried to take pressure off my wounded knee, my blood staining the ground and now soaking my pants leg.

I stretched, grabbing the pommel of the knife embedded within the woman's skull and pulled, though the blade refused to budge. Grunting, I pressed my free hand upon her ruined brow, beckoning the blade until it was ripped from it's prison. Blood flew from the fatal wound, I hearing cartilage and bone scrape against the blade as I exhaled, flicking my wrist.

I then looked upon the woman's attire, grabbing hold of her dress and tearing a strip of cloth. The cloth may not have been clean, but it would have to do as I wrapped it into a ball, stuffing the cloth into the open slit of my pants leg. I grimaced as I held pressure on the stab wound before ripping a much larger strip of cloth from the woman's dress. I then used the fabric as a tourniquet, wrapping the cloth around my knee.

Blade in hand, I slowly rose to my feet once more. I tried to keep my leg as straight as possible, making my stride awkward and wobbly. Still, I could not stop. Shealyne needed me, wherever she was.

I hobbled towards the opened back door of the aged house, readying my blade as I peeked inside. I could tell that this was the back room that had led to the disheveled living room. I could hear the sound of boiling water and the crackle of fire burning, but the smell was not pleasant. It was defiantly cooking flesh, and as I moved inside did I see the numerous flies upon what I assumed to be mounds of flesh, now a moving black mass. Larvae littered the tables and floor, large pools of blood staining the wood. From what I could see, there was no sign of a recent kill.

I moved near the boiling pot, bubbles and steam rising that made me sweat even more from the heat-which was even greater from the almost suffocating stench of decay. I peered into the water, seeing a mangled head within.

I sighed in relief. It did not belong to my Sister. Still, I did not know where she was. She could not be upstairs, and the man had originally come from this kitchen. Perhaps there were signs that I had missed?

I looked around the room, noticing the slightest blood splatter on the wall. I approached, running my finger along the small splotches, the blood not even clotted. It was fresh. Not even a half hour old. Judging by the formation of the blood, it definitely was not caused by a blade...no, it was by a blunt weapon. The axe? Was there blood already on that axe? I could not remember...no, I could not...

I remembered hearing a thud, maybe a scream? Still, if Shealyne was hit...then she would have fallen...hmmm.

I lowered my sights to the maggot infested floor, spying a relatively fresh splotch of blood. The trail was faint, but it lead towards the living room, some dried blood scratched clean off the aged wood. As I followed, I noticed the blood trail grew in quantity. She was bleeding from her previous wound. Her cut must have reopened...

I followed the trail through the door we first entered, hobbling as I tried to move faster, leg shaking and once more threatening to give.

"Hang on, Shealyne..." I muttered, ignoring my damned leg as the sun began to fade behind the vast mountains in the distance. I worried how far they had dragged her, for if darkness fell I would not be able to follow her trail in the night.

The trail of blood had led to the entrance of a basement on the far side of the house. The double doors were held tight by a lock, though both wood and metal were heavily decayed.

I grasped at a handle, tugging as the door moved, yet the lock did not break. Breathing raggedly, I put the pommel of the knife between my teeth, grabbing both handles as I pulled with what strength I had. The wood groaned, yet the lock did not break.

A sigh escaped me as I pulled away, stepping back in an attempt to kick the doors, but ceased the action. I did not trust the wound enough. Instead, I readied the blade and thrust it upon the door, the wood breaking. I continued to stab around the lock until the wood could no longer hold, the handles breaking. I then grabbed the handles, ripping them off along with their wooden support and lock.

Forcing my gloved hands into the broken doors, I grunted as I pulled them open, the hinges groaning in protest. A dank air then hit my senses, I readying my blade as I slowly decended into the underground lair. I was unsure of what lurked in the darkness, but I knew that my Shealyne was somewhere within. That was all I needed to go boldly into blindness.

I cautiously moved through the basement, blade poised to strike, my stride slow and uneven. I could not see, not entirely so as my ears perked up upon hearing strained groans, as if one was in pain.

I had followed the noise, hoping it would lead to my Sister as my eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. I would have missed the spectical had my eyes not adjusted, and to my horror had spied Shealyne tied to a chair, stripped of all clothing, beaten and bruised. Her hair was disheveled, eyes holding disgust and shame as her lips were tightly pressed shut, mouth bloody from having bitten in self defense. Yet the gravest offense was that my beloved's legs were forced open, exposed and vulnerable to the animal that had violated her.

I felt my body tremble and burn with immense heat, pressure building within my stomach as my breath hitched, becoming ragged. The man forcing himself upon my Shealyne was sickingly obese and misshapen, body filled with open sores and oozing puss. The mere sight of such a beautiful creature against a hideous monster caused my blood to boil. My sight turned red, and then...darkness.

By the time I had regained awareness I was drenched in sweat, heart pounding wildly within my head as I struggled to breathe. Any pain I had felt before was gone, or at least dulled. I did not realize where I was, or what I had done. I could not move, not at first. I was done. Physically done. Mentally done. Emotionally...done. And in an odd form of...calm? Was that it? Calm?

I breathed, slow and steady as I looked upon my hands, shaking slightly and almost up to my elbows in blood. I examined my hands, and noticed pieces of flesh clung to them. I looked around, spying the filth that had attacked my Sister, dead. The body was completely disembowled and castrated, cut open from neck to waist. Multiple stab wounds were upon him-so many that I could not count them all. Yet the knife was embedded within his skull, making it's final home.

I was kneeling, and had struggled to get up, arms laden as if they were weights. As I rose, I noticed the wall was stained with words written in blood, smeared by my own hands. From what I could see, I had written the word 'defiler'. Many times.

I then had noticed Shealyne on the floor, her chair knocked over.

"Shealyne!" I called, voice laden with worry as I moved to her side, untying her bound hands and feet as she plopped upon the floor, shaking.

"Shhhh. Shhhhh. It's okay." I cooed, taking my robe off and wrapping the cloth around her fragile form, "It's okay."

I rubbed her shoulder, her red irises looking upon me, she just as exhausted at I, "...You came. Mathieu, I-"

"Shhhh. Let's get you out of here." I spoke softly, bringing her into my arms, she shaking and smelling like them.

I grunted as I hoisted her up, the pain and tiredness returning as my leg buckled. I was unsure if I could carry her as I slowly started to move, stride shaken and awkward. I felt her hold onto me, nestling against my form as I felt myself lose balance, leaning against the wall.

I took a moment to collect myself before pushing onward, pausing towards the few steps separating us from freedom. Step by painful step we climbed, my leg giving out on the top as I fell upon the ground, Shealyne yelping.

I groaned, rolling upon my back as my Sister lay at my side. I could not do it. I could not carry her anymore. I just couldn't...

Shealyne stirred at my side, the woman slowly rising, tying the robe closer to her form before helping me up despite her own pain.

"Come on, Mathieu. We need to go." She ushered me softly, draping my arm around her shoulder as she supported my weight-which I heavily leaned upon her.

We walked until I could no longer, my leg completely giving out for a final time. The pain was so great that I could not move, not now. Yet even then my Sister had remained by my side, both of us nestled under a tree, the stars exposed.

We sat in silence, unable and unwilling to speak as I shifted in place, groaning. My body was unable to carry on, yet I did not wish to sleep. Not yet...

"Are you alright?" I looked towards Shealyne upon hearing her question, slowly nodding.

"Yes. Yes, I am." I replied, falling silent, which had reigned for several minutes, "Do you want to-"

"No." She stated, voice firm and harsh, my Sister taking several minutes before responding again, response softer, "No, I don't want to talk about it."

I hesitated, unsure how to entirely respond, "...I see."

Shealyne sighed, arms wrapping around herself, "...Thank you. You didn't have to come for me. But you did. Thank you."

I forced a soft smile through my cracked lips, she returning the gesture through tired eyes, leaning against me as a slender finger traced one of the scratches on my face.

"Hmmmm, looks like you were someone's scratching post." Shealyne commented with a gentle laugh. Her optimism despite our recent events caused me to chuckle, canines showing.

"Yes, and I was also someone's pin cushion. I got stabbed for you." I stated, Shealyne rolling her eyes half heartedly.

"Are you going to use that excuse everytime you want something from me?" My Sister asked, I pausing, in mock thought.

"...that depends on what I want. And how badly."

"And what do you want?"

"Sleep." I replied, craving it, yet not ready to fall into death's second self. Not yet...

"And why would I allow you to sleep?" Shealyne questioned, a yawn slipping passed her lips.

"Because I got stabbed for you." I repeated, she chuckling softly before kissing me. She tasted...filthy. I didn't like it. I didn't like what they did to her.

She pulled away, now smiling sullenly with worn eyes. It hurt to see her like that.

"Shealyne, are you sure?" I questioned, my Sister cocking her head to the side ever so slightly, as if confused. A sullen smile once again graced her lips.

"Yes, I am sure. It's just flesh, Mathieu."

"Yes...just flesh..." I repeated, though frowned slightly upon the meaning. Still, I was too tired to read much into it, "I am...sorry if I scared you. When I murdered that-" I was silenced as she placed a finger over my lips, she smiling.

"Don't be. Insanity is only unleashed when the soul is truly touched." She spoke, her soft finger then leaving my cracked lips as she once more nuzzled into my form, "Go to sleep, Mathieu. I'll take watch and tend to your wounds in the morning."

"It's only flesh, love." I muttered, briefly kissing her brow before falling into a deep torpor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I have a list of story inspired dreams. If you have a preference on what I should write next, feel free to let me know. Otherwise I will probably work at random. 
> 
> During the Dark Brotherhood:
> 
> Stolkholm Sydrome: A dead drop requires a pair of Silencers to assassinate a wealthy and influential noble from High Rock. After Shealyne falters and fails to slit the man's throat at a ball upon recognizing her parents, it forces Mathieu to play the Devil's Advocate that makes their quarry come to them. With his teenage daughter held hostage in the wilds, the merchant is willing to go to his killers in order to see his daughter free and unharmed. However, things don't go quite as planned for the assassins, as the girl swiftly develops a liking to Bellamont--much to Shealyne's chagrin.
> 
> Location: Daggerfall, High Rock
> 
> Featured Characters: Mathieu Bellamont
> 
> Rating: Teen.  
> \-------  
> Death's Coming: After the Theive's Guild uncovers a mysterious artifact, they find themselves at a loss of what its true nature is. Unable to perform any legal endeavors, the Guild makes a rare contract with the Dark Brotherhood, to which Shealyne is sent due to her years in dabbling with the Dark Arts. However, the artifact is unlike any she has ever seen before, for the simple cube sports cryptic messages upon its sides that she cannot comprehend. Until a brutal murder shocks the group, the assailant a loyal member of the Guild. Upon dealing with the perpitrator, Shealyne then realizes that the crypic message, in fact, changed. It is too late that she realizes the seemingly mindless murder is the first of many, and that she is unknowingly in the sights of a ruthless killer.
> 
> Location: Ruined Fort formerly used by Thieve's Guild
> 
> Featured Characters: Mainly OCs
> 
> Rating: Mature for massive, possibly disturbing violence, murder/attempted murder, torture.  
> \--------  
> Debauchery: Overindulgence of pleasures are good in small doses. Too much, and it becomes a poison that lingers in the system. For Mathieu and Shealyne, the lives of Silencers can be anything but pleasurable, and normal. In a rare chance of normalcy entering their lives, the partners decide that a night spent drinking their blood money away at the Anvil Docks is what they need. However, the excessive alcohol affects their judgement, causing them to get in over their heads. Quite frankly, after recallying the events with sober minds, the pair decide it's best to never speak of the matter to save their pride. Ever.
> 
> Location: Anvil, Cyrodiil
> 
> Featured Characters: Mathieu Bellamont
> 
> Rating: Mature for sexual content, adult humor, and a failed threesome.  
> \--------  
> Post Dark Brotherhood--AU
> 
> Forget-Me-Not: Shealyne loves her husband. It is something pure and simple, for the young Breton is struggling to put her murderous past behind her and be a good wife. The only things she loves more than her husband, in fact, are their twin sons, who are not even five winters old. However, vampirism is not for those with a weak mind, and the disease manifests into something Shealyne could ever hope to combat: a degradation in memory. While small, and seemingly insignificant at first, the lapses span and grow until the Breton cannot even remember her own children, leaving her young sons confused and hurt at their mother's hostility. Guilbert Jemane knows he is losing his wife, and it pains him. She sees him as a stranger, same as their sons. Feeling as if he is a failure to his young family, and wondering why the Nine Divines would be so cruel, the Jemane is desperate to find something--anything within the husk that was once his wife.
> 
> Location: Weatherleah, Cyrodiil
> 
> Featured Characters: Guilbert Jemane
> 
> Rating: Teen  
> \------  
> Till Death Due Us Part: After the death of her husband by bandits, Shealyne is far from a passive, mourning widow. The call for vengeance boils strongly in her clotted blood, and the Breton seeks the deaths of those who had desecrated her love's body--and worse--took his wedding ring. Shealyne soon discovers a new level of loneliness, and it is something that makes her question her own immortality--and whether she still retains her humanity.
> 
> Location: Unknown, Cyrodiil
> 
> Featured Characters: Guilbert Jemane
> 
> Rating: Teen.  
> \-------  
> Skyrim
> 
> To Make a Dead Heart Beat - - Shealyne is a woman stricken with vampirism, her mere existence a mockery and a forgotten eminence of the Oblivion Crisis. In seeking aid to rid a family of trolls that have claimed her home, she stumbles upon Hadvar-a Nord whom she would have despised two centuries ago. To her shock, the young man agrees to aid her, and to her fear, she finds herself falling for a mortal man.
> 
> Location: Cryodiil, shortly before Skyrim.
> 
> Featured Characters: Hadvar/OC
> 
> Rating: Teen for violence and content.


End file.
